Act I

The General's office in a military station on the east front in
Beotia. An office table with a telephone, writing materials,
official papers, etc., is set across the room. At the end of the
table, a comfortable chair for the General. Behind the chair, a
window. Facing it at the other end of the table, a plain wooden
bench. At the side of the table, with its back to the door, a
common chair, with a typewriter before it. Beside the door, which
is opposite the end of the bench, a rack for caps and coats.
There is nobody in the room.

General Strammfest enters, followed by Lieutenant Schneidekind.
They hang up their cloaks and caps. Schneidekind takes a little
longer than Strammfest, who comes to the table.

STRAMMFEST. Schneidekind.

SCHNEIDEKIND. Yes, sir.

STRAMMFEST. Have you sent my report yet to the government? [He
sits down.]

SCHNEIDEKIND [coming to the table]. Not yet, sir. Which
government do you wish it sent to? [He sits down.]

STRAMMFEST. That depends. What's the latest? Which of them do you
think is most likely to be in power tomorrow morning?

SCHNEIDEKIND. Well, the provisional government was going strong
yesterday. But today they say that the Prime Minister has shot
himself, and that the extreme left fellow has shot all the
others.

STRAMMFEST. Yes: that's all very well; but these fellows always
shoot themselves with blank cartridge.

SCHNEIDEKIND. Still, even the blank cartridge means backing down.
I should send the report to the Maximilianists.

STRAMMFEST. They're no stronger than the Oppidoshavians; and in
my own opinion the Moderate Red Revolutionaries are as likely to
come out on top as either of them.

SCHNEIDEKIND. I can easily put a few carbon sheets in the
typewriter and send a copy each to the lot.

STRAMMFEST. Waste of paper. You might as well send reports to an
infant school. [He throws his head on the table with a groan.]

SCHNEIDEKIND. Tired out, Sir?

STRAMMFEST. O Schneidekind, Schneidekind, how can you bear to
live?

SCHNEIDEKIND. At my age, sir, I ask myself how can I bear to die?

STRAMMFEST. You are young, young and heartless. You are excited
by the revolution: you are attached to abstract things like
liberty. But my family has served the Panjandrums of Beotia
faithfully for seven centuries. The Panjandrums have kept our
place for us at their courts, honored us, promoted us, shed their
glory on us, made us what we are. When I hear you young men
declaring that you are fighting for civilization, for democracy,
for the overthrow of militarism, I ask myself how can a man shed
his blood for empty words used by vulgar tradesmen and common
laborers: mere wind and stink. [He